A Series of Fortunate Events
by Pearl3
Summary: A collection of stories that will range from Vegeta's Childhood, to the current events in Dragon Ball Super, and even to Future Trunks' Timeline...not necessarily in chronological order, but I will try to maintain "canon". All dragonball characters...Rated M, just in case! Read and Review :D
1. Hymn for the Weekend

_A Series of Fortunate Events_

 **|Hymn for the Weekend|**

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"…no."

The verbal ping-pong match that was currently underway in front of the 9-year-old was particularly amusing. Oh sure, he had seen these spats before. From time to time they were usually over his antics, but today his father was the sole bearer of his mother's wrath. A ghost of a smirk, all too familiar for anyone with an ounce of Saiya-jin blood running through their veins, flittered across his face as his mother sat back, exasperation oozing from her countenance.

"Dammit, I said yes!"

"And I said no, Bulma," her husband ground out, saying it with the usual air of finality he felt when he had won the argument.

Trunks snickered, watching his mother's nostrils flare while her cheeks blushed in slight flattery. Ever since his father's death—and soon-followed resurrection—the tiniest bit of humanity surfaced in the man before him. Granted, he was still a rough, impatient asshole from time to time, but it was the little things, such as saying his mother's name instead of "Woman", that caused everyone within earshot that knew him to pause and openly gape at him. It was nearly a year since that battle, though, so while the Prince had evolved a smidge, it was less and less surprising.

Bulma slammed her palm flat on the table, earning eyebrow raises from the males seated on either side of her. "I don't understand why you're so against this. Think of how much easier life would be on all of us if you would just acquiesce to my one, simple request."

Vegeta's scowl deepened, his palms both flat on the table in a show _non-escalatory behavior_ , whatever the hell that meant. "Because I can simply get around quicker _my way_ versus using whatever contraption you would strap me into."

"You—" The blue-eyed beauty felt her teeth clench shut. Arguing with him would simply get her nowhere…she felt she should've learned that in their 10+ years of living together. Still stubborn as ever, she had hoped that for once, she could get him to comply and do this one, menial task. It was so simple that even some of the dumbest people she knew had been able to accomplish it.

And with that, her eyes lit up, a smirk rivaling her boys' stretched across her face. "You know," she started again, picking up a manual and flipping through it uninterestedly. "Son-kun and Piccolo got it done years ago. I'm quite surprised, really," she added, cutting off her husband before he could interject. "Just think of how they must've struggled with it."

Trunks looked up at his father in time to see the older man's eye twitch. It wasn't often that Vegeta's usual mask of indifference was so easily dropped, but at the mention of Goku's name, the usually stoic alien was almost always ready to jump out of his seat and rocket into the air. The kid honestly couldn't understand what the deal was to make his father practically spit fire whenever Goten's dad came up in conversation. Sure the guy was strong…most likely the strongest person in the universe. As far as he was concerned, however, Goku was still a ghost. His 7-year absence may have given him the advantage of non-stop training, but it had done nothing to convince the demi that the bright-eyed third class warrior was any better of a man than his father.

"Kakarotto has the IQ of the daikon he so lovingly harvests."

"I know. So for you it should be as simple as your morning katas, ne?"

Vegeta's eye twitched yet again. She was a sneaky little shit, that much he would grant his wife. Expertly, she had cornered him, knowing that his undying resolve to best Son would drive him to do her bidding, time and time again. He felt a small swell of pride as a triumphant smile replaced the wicked grin instantly. There hadn't been many days where he could see her smile light up the room in the past—he had usually abandoned his small family for the Gravity Room for the majority of every day. Since Buu though, he had sought out more of their presence in his life, even going as far as to walk with Trunks every morning and every afternoon, to and from the school bus stop. That smile was worth any small hit to his pride that he may have to endure.

His sacrifice for his family—and Earth—had made him quickly realize that while a great part of him missed the savage beast that roamed the galaxies, an even greater part of him wouldn't know what to do with himself if he had ever lost them _again_. Their deaths at the hand of the pink slayer had been the last nail in the proverbial coffin. His howl of rage and the sting of unshed tears were constantly present feelings that he could never shake when he was near them. The flame-haired man would quite literally do anything for them.

"Fine," he finally muttered, turning his head to the side to avoid his son's noticing the flare in his cheeks.

Bulma's fist shot up in the air, the swell of victory settled deep within her gut. It was probably the greatest battle she had won in recent memory and while she knew she couldn't poke at her husband about it, she almost felt like he had earned every jab that was to come. She looked over to Trunks who, despite spending a few hours a day locked away in the Gravity Room with his father, thereby getting to know him even better than she ever could, looked as though he believed Vegeta had performed a body swap with someone. The blue-eyed half-alien shook his head, a small laugh that eerily sounded like his father's escaping his lips.

"Thank you, Vegeta," she sighed, ruffling her son's hair as she slid the various pamphlets and manual towards the brooding man at the head of the table. Trunks shrugged, apparently over the initial shock of his father's submission to his mother's demands. It was only a matter of time anyway.

There on a yellow background, "Driver's Manual" glared up at the Prince in big, black, bold lettering. He sighed, opening the booklet with a flick of his wrist. His family beamed up at him, and while he was sure he had lost this battle, he couldn't help the small smirk that whispered across his face.

"Yeah, yeah," he finally answered, burying his nose in his studies.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Bulma's arms wrap around his neck, her chin resting comfortably on top of his head. "I love you," she murmured, arms flexing slightly to hold him as close as she could. His smirk strained against his face, willing it not to turn into an idiotic, cheesy smile. She had told him these three words on numerous occasions but the frequency of these utterances increased significantly over the last year or so. He knew he had taken these tokens of affection for granted and each time she said it, he couldn't help but wonder just what he had done to merit her undying devotion.

Vegeta tilted his head back, capturing her lips before she had a chance to skulk away to her lab. Someday he would be able to say those words back to her…but today was not that day. If she didn't know how he felt by now…

Her pleased hum resonated in the kitchen, causing their son to groan and flee before he saw more than he bargained for. "GROSS!" He whined, the chuckles of his parents following him as he ran to the living room. It didn't matter, he supposed. A wicked grin crawled back onto his face as he imagined his father going through the driver's test.

"He's definitely gonna fail," he mused aloud, his head lulling back as a fit of laughter shook his whole body.

 _Poor papa._

 **A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed this little ficclet! Honestly, this whole submission is just going to be a bunch of short stories tied together, ranging from Vegeta's childhood, to the current events in Dragon Ball Super, to even Future Trunks' timeline. I will try to not necessarily have these one-shots related to one another, but if it does happen, apologies ahead of time! As a side note, all of the titles of the chapters come from various songs that helped inspire me write each ficclet…so definitely listen to them if you want to get in the mood to read ;)**

 **Please review, let me know what you think. I'm still trying to wrap up "Savin' Me" as I have 2 other stories floating in my head. Check out my Bio on my Page for more info! Until next time!**

 **Pearl 3**


	2. Sucker for Pain

**|Sucker for Pain|**

* * *

Chocolatey-brown eyes beheld the empty space to the right of her, covers crumpled against her body in a barrier-like fashion, pillows fluffed until the stuffing came out from the corners of the seams. The eyes shut instantly, brows furrowing in irritation. How many times had the sun shone brightly into her room, making her turn to this side to take in its glory with her husband, only to find his side of the bed empty?

Alone.

Cold.

Deserted.

A sigh escaped her thin lips as she yanked the covers away from her body, her irritation now swirling around her like her own aura. It wouldn't matter how many times she yelled or chased after her husband, admittedly, forcing her to sit up. He would always get his way because she would always _let_ him win. The pout would surface on his face, his eyes would get this pathetic look, and even his shoulders would slump in that "why are we doing this again?" way that always set her teeth on edge.

Chichi planted her feet on the ground, relishing the feel of the cold tile against her skin. It helped relieve some of her bubbling rage, although she was sure it wasn't enough for her to not at least take a swing at her hero of a husband with a cast iron skillet.

"Moooooooooooooooooooom!" Goten bellowed, the pattering of his footsteps echoing down the hall as he made his way towards her. She felt a ghost of a smile stretch across her face, anger now ebbing back to the initial irritation she felt this morning. Her youngest, while a practical clone of his father, could never fail in making her family feel whole. His mere presence was enough to turn even the foulest of moods into fleeting memories.

"Yes, sweetie," she called back, grabbing the nearest robe to cinch around her body. Her son peered around the corner, his father's smile glaring back at her.

Goten crossed his arms, Chichi's eyebrow raising with the action. The more he hung out with Trunks, the more of his mannerisms he adopted. She wasn't sure how she felt about hat, but even the slightly intimidating stance didn't deter from the wildly innocent glow around her son. "Dad says the tractor is busted," he sang, his eyes taking on the same glint his sire usually got at the prospect of ditching work for "fun".

Fun, of course, being _training_.

"Of course it is," Chichi growled, stomping past her child and heading out the front door like a woman possessed. "Goku-sa!"

The sight of her husband, clad in khaki cargo pants and top, flinching at her call caused her to pause mid stride momentarily. He had been doing it since his return to life and with each flinch she felt a tiny bit of herself chip away. It hurt in ways she didn't think possible, but she never let on that she noticed. At least, she hoped Goku hadn't noticed. She tried to tell herself, every time it happened, that he just wasn't used to being around them anymore—that his reaction was just a matter of him getting used to Chichi's beckoning versus Kaio-sama's.

Well, again, she hoped so.

"Morning!" he chirped as she closed the gap between them. His hand shot to the back of his head, scratching it in that cute, nervous way that she had grown quite fond of. "I can't get it start."

"Hmm," Chichi mused aloud, hopping into the cab easily. Training with Goten during her husband's absence had firmed her body and refocused her mind. It was one of the few things that she hated to admit out loud, but she definitely missed training…especially with her baby.

She cranked the ignition, waiting for it to turn over and burst into life with a diesel roar. Instead it coughed, dust billowing off of it in a small cloud around them. Her brow twitched as she tried cranking it again, resulting in another cough, followed by a wheeze. There was no winning today; the damn thing was down again and she wasn't sure that they could pay for repairs without cashing in on their harvest.

So lost in her thoughts, she jumped when she felt Goku's world-saving arms loop around her shoulders. "Maybe Bulma can fix it!"

Chichi felt her frown pull into a deep scowl. She and the scientist had never really gotten a chance to get close, even with Goku's death during the Cell Games. Gohan and Goten would spend hours-on-end at Capsule Corp each week, but she could barely make it there once a month to even see how the Briefs were doing. It wasn't that she didn't like Bulma; in all honesty Chichi couldn't help the small tinge of jealousy that cropped up in her belly every time she crossed the threshold into their living quarters. While a former enemy of the earth—a villainous, treacherous bastard—and Goku's mortal rival, Vegeta had never once deserted his family for training. Months-long training excursions in space, weeks locked away in the Gravity Room, even relocating to the desert for days were all his modus operandi…but he _always_ came back. Always. He was unfailingly loyal to not just Bulma and their son, but to his in-laws and the employees of their technological empire. She had even seen him stop whatever he was doing on multiple occasions to lend a hand on whatever project was causing the Briefs and Company to tailspin.

The most she could get Goku to do was to harvest the fields in the morning before shouldering his pleading gaze to resume his training. His excuse was always for Earth, but she couldn't hide the hints of betrayal when he failed to mention that he was also doing this for family. Who was he kidding anyway? He was in constant competition with himself _and_ Vegeta to endlessly push his limits and get stronger. He had even chosen death over his own family because "Earth is always in danger" when he's around. But she knew, deep down in the darker depths of her soul. Training was like the very air he breathed. Without it, he would wither away and die, leaving her and their sons once again. So she bore it as best she could, all the while envying their oldest friends and wishing she had whatever it was that they had.

"I suppose," she relented, her cheeks heating slightly under Goku's studying gaze. She had been too quiet for too long, so he had to have known that something was up.

Chichi put on her best smile, brushing long, loose locks of her hair back. "I'll make breakfast; you call Bulma."

"Okay," Goku said slowly, releasing his wife and watching her walk away.

Her steps were quick and thought out, though she could feel Goku's eyes practically burning through her back as she shut the front door behind her. The sigh that escaped her body was long, full, unknowingly held while she made the quick retreat back into the fortress of her kitchen. Chichi knew she couldn't blame her husband, or rather, she shouldn't blame him. It would forever be impossible for her to understand him because he was the member of a fighting warrior race, and she was simply a princess.

Well…a princess of a dead tribe. Penniless, tired, aging.

Part of her wondered what life would've been like without her path having crossed Goku's. Where would they be now? Would he still have been the savior of the world? Would she and her father still be living in the tiny, terrified village below their mountain home? How different would she be now?...

Chichi turned her eyes on to a plate, half convinced that it shied away from her in terror. Scrubbing at dishes had always seemed to be a bit of a stress reliever, but at the moment all she could see were the various males in her family wincing in her relative vicinity. They had been especially close in the weeks after the battle with Majin Buu, hardly separated by anything but Gohan and Goten's studies. Now, nearly a year later, it was almost as if that battle had never happened. While the rest of the humans across the planet were blissfully unaware of the terrors of those few, long days, she still lived with the images of screams, death, and even the afterlife.

Was that it then? Was that what was bothering her? The sheer fact that she was wildly aware of how fragile the planet truly is truly frightened her. Goku had spent seven years in the afterlife, training for that very battle—unbeknownst to any of them—and yet he and Vegeta had been helpless to save it from destruction. Seven years, and they had to call on the inhabitants of the planet and the universe in general to create a blast large enough to disintegrate the little pink turd.

"Chi, are you ok?" The soft voice of her husband nearly caused her to drop both dish and sponge. She could feel his body heat radiating off of him behind her, probably only centimeters apart. He gently placed one hand on her hip, but made no other move.

"I'm fine," she responded, resuming the furious scrub on the plate. "Why?"

Goku frowned, reaching around her to turn off the water. "You just seem…preoccupied."

"That's a big word, even for you."

She could feel Goku's sigh brush through her loose hair. A small smile graced her features. "You know," he grabbed the plate and sponge, placing them gently in the sink, "that's really not as funny as you think it is."

"I don't know. You're all muscle at this point."

"Still. I'm not book smart, but even Vegeta thinks I'm pretty great on the battlefield."

Chichi snorted, turning to face her husband. "How many beers had he downed when he said that?"

It was Goku's turn to frown, a feature so unnatural on his face that she wanted to push the corners of his lips up with her fingers to correct him. "Chichi, you're being mean." He lifted his hand, running his fingers through the same wayward locks of hair that he had blown through moments before. "What's wrong," he pushed again, resting his palm against her cheek.

Chichi nearly melted into his hand, relishing the feel of his callused skin against her own smooth one. How often had she dreamed of his affections during his absence? How many times had she wondered if his body would still go through the same physical strains in the other world as it would down on the plain of the living? His warmth was comforting and helped ease the remainder of her irritation as if it had been nothing more than a bad dream.

"I need you," she mumbled, grabbing his hand and wrist with her mildly week hands. "I need you here, with me and Goten."

The confusion was evident in Goku's eyes, his thumb tracing his wife's lips. "I'm right here, Chi. I'm not going anywhere."

Her eyes met his, almost challenging him. "I've heard this before."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said again, forcefully, as if willing himself to believe it too.

Chichi sighed, closing her eyes momentarily before boring right back into his own. "Promise me."

Goku's eye twitched. It wasn't often that his wife could work his nerves, as it was usually the other way around. He found himself, however, nodding as he noticed the wear and strain of years of worries reflected back at him. It pained him to see her like this; fear of losing her family again seemed to wrap itself around her lungs in a way that he didn't think possible. He had done this, he realized, now feeling the same tightening in his chest.

"Okay," he swore, wrapping her in his arms once again. "I love you."

"I love you too, Goku-sa."

* * *

 **A/N: Awwwww yiiiiiiis. I've had this one in my nugget for a while, actually. There's been a sort of mystery, to me anyway, about Goku and Chichi's life after he came back from his 7-year trek in death. Part of me thinks, Chichi being who she is, that she wouldn't be quite so forgiving so quickly. We all know Goku is that loveable oaf who doesn't usually understand the depth of responsibility he has to his family, but I'd like to think that he's not as dumb as people portray him to be. I've been guilty of this on numerous occasions (I cringe whenever I re-read some of my older fics). Don't get me wrong, Vegeta is still the number 1 Saiya-jin in my book, but Goku has been working his way towards the top 5 at least**

 **Hope all of you enjoyed this little snippet! Next up will be Krillin and Juuhachigo (#18)!**

 **Matta,**

 **Pearl3**


	3. Don't Let Me Down

**|Don't Let Me Down|**

* * *

Juuhachigo (#18) had been observing the tiny island from a safe distance for quite a few weeks now. While none of the inhabitants could pose a physical threat to her—she was still infinitely stronger—one particularly short human had found a way to embed himself in her mind's eye. Training, traveling, shopping, even finding a part-time job had done nothing to erase him from her thoughts. She had once contemplated dropping her defenses down to zero and ramming herself head first through the thickest of mountains that she could find, but thought better of it. Nobody would ever be able to find her and repair the damage done to her frame.

Plus, there was no guarantee that the ex-monk would escape her dreams either.

She kept staring, mostly glaring, through the open window as the old geezer and the bald kid walked back and forth in the house, obviously cleaning. They had been going at it for the better part of two hours, and there she stayed: suspended in mid-air, wind blowing through her hair, arms crossed. Why the hell couldn't she turn away? She was only doing the mental damage to herself, she noted, pushing an irritating lock of blonde away from her face.

"Asshole," she ground out, half tempted to blow up the whole damn island and the surrounding plots of sand around it. Instead, she tightened her arms across her chest, willing herself to move away from the spot. Maybe she could go check up on her brother, see what he was up to? She hadn't heard from him at all since their absorption into Cell. When she had been restored to full health, she had returned to the site of the Cell Games, unsurprised to find her brother had flown off. He had, most likely, been embarrassed to be saved by Son Gohan and his rag-tag group of warriors. Shit, she was too.

 _Huh, that's why I can't get over this_ , she mused, feet touching the soft sand of Kame Island before she had a chance to realize what she was doing. Movement in the house stopped abruptly, sending waves of panic rolling over her much like the ocean behind her. Despite the fact that they couldn't sense any ki from her, they had somehow noticed her presence.

"Shit shit shit," she half turned away from the house, ready to take flight, when the door creaking open halted her.

"Wait!" Krillin called out, bounding down the stairs as quickly as he could without looking too desperate. He had been wondering just where the Android had flown off too in the hours after Cell's defeat. Try as he might, he had never been able to sense her, and seemingly out of indebtedness, neither she nor her brother had lain waste to the planet. He smiled up at her, unsurprised by her stoic glare back.

Her blue eyes seemed to pierce through his soul, but he didn't mind one bit. In the weeks of recovery since that rather horrific battle, he had done nothing short of dreaming of the tall, Blonde, half-human half-machine that stood before her. If that wasn't enough for the somewhat-shy warrior, her impromptu kiss on his cheek during the first few days of their battle had replayed in his mind over and over again, until he could do nothing else but throw himself into training and little else to find peace of mind.

But here she stood. Graceful. Imposing. If her hair hadn't been floating in the sea's breeze he could've sworn she was a mere statue, haphazardly dropped off on the island.

Her eyebrow rose, prompting him to say his peace before she flew off. Krillin could clearly see her muscles taut with anticipation, although whether it was out of excitement or ready to flee the area was still to be determined.

"How…have you been?" He grimaced inwardly, trying desperately not to twiddle his thumbs under her calculating gaze. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Juuhachigo started at him for what felt like an eternity. The young warrior was starting to wonder if she was distantly related to Vegeta; their countenance was freakishly identical.

"Fine," she said slowly, moving her hand to only brush the same rebellious clump of hair behind her ear. "You?" _Not that I care…or anything_ , she added mentally. _I think._

"Great!" He chirped, glancing back at the house quickly before returning his full attention to her. "How's your brother doing? I don't remember seeing him since we were at Cell's Ring."

The Android offered a small shrug, glad that blushing wasn't as quick to grace her cheeks as it would've been had she been fully human. "I haven't seen him since then either. My guess is that he's licking his wounds somewhere in the forests near Son's house."

Krillin nodded, shifting his weight to his other foot. Heat rushed to his cheeks as he kicked around some sand. "Well, since you're here and all—why don't you stay for dinner? I'm sure Roshi-sama wouldn't mind." _The old pervert._

Blue eyes flicked to her wrist, watch glinting in the sun. The ex-monk took a small step back, finally realizing that she was not in the tattered rags he had last seen her in. He couldn't remember her wearing any jewelry outside of a necklace and pair of earrings—how he could remember those details, he was too ashamed to find out. Clad in black slacks and a black polo, she looked almost completely human. Well, goth, but human nonetheless.

"Can't. I have to work."

At this, Krillin raised his eyebrow, earning a small smirk from the woman across from him. "You…work?"

"Gotta have money to eat, shop, live. I can't very well continue running around the planet stealing things, now, can I?"

"I suppose not," he allowed, rubbing the back of his head. "Raincheck?"

Juuhachigo continued to stare at him, her mind whirling through a dozen different instances on the pros and cons of returning to the island and actually breaking bread with her former enemies. What the hell would they want with her anyway? She was no great conversationalist. She had no special talents aside from blowing people to kingdom come. Her formative years were a foggy, nearly black haze that she couldn't recall no matter how hard she tried. A great part of her highly doubted that they would even want to hear about all of the sadistic shit Dr. Gero had put her and the other Androids through.

Would she even want to listen to _whatever_ it is that _they_ wanted to say? How they prattled about, training fruitlessly to defend a planet that should very well defend itself? Or how terribly they missed their dear departed friend, and how his family was suffering without him? Hell, even the thought of their supposed old adventures across the planet was already boring her to tears.

But then, she looked back into his eyes. He hadn't budged or said one word while she continued to mull over her answer. There was a hopeful look there, but it was guarded, almost fully understanding of the rejection that he _knew_ was to come. Something in her belly flip-flopped at the thought that someone who genuinely seemed like a decent enough guy would be more readied for a rejection than pushing himself on an attractive woman.

"Okay," she heard herself say, eyes widening a fraction as she realized that she couldn't shove the word vomit back down. _Fuuuuuuuu—_

"Okay," he echoed, a small smile on his face. "Just drop by whenever you have a night off!" He offered a wave before hopping up the stairs, disappearing behind the screened door of the house. The woman could only narrow her eyes, wondering just what the hell had happened and how she had been helpless to stop it.

Offering another shrug, she easily hopped into the sky, fighting the small smile that tried desperately to stretch across her face. Instead she forced her ki out of her body, pushing her through the clear, blue skies like a rocket.

"Asshole," she muttered again, only this time with that smile winning the battle.

* * *

 **A/N: Woot! I figured it was time I wrote something on 18 and Krillin. I just "Juuhachigo" because it felt weird just writing 18 over and over again. You get the idea. Hope this quick ficclette was enough to hold you guys over! I'm already working on the next one while trying to write through Goku's heart virus in "Savin' Me". Sigh.**

 **Matta ne,**

 **Pearl3**


	4. Heathens

**|Heathens|**

* * *

"Again!"

The young Prince grit his teeth, tail lashing wildly behind him. He had half a mind to tell his mentor just exactly _where_ he could shove this move that he was learning, but thought better of it. There was clearly no need to be cold-clocked by the overtly large Elite again.

A blast carefully aimed as his tender ribs woke him from his thoughts, sending him flying into the wall of the training room. He hissed angrily, tail still moving, although each and every part of his fur stood on end. The six-year-old wanted nothing more than to launch his body at his attacker, to feel himself ripping through the flesh of his midsection, drenched in the old man's blood. Instead, he stood on shaky legs, willing his ribs to stop throbbing with each heaving breath he took.

"I said, again!"

Vegeta slapped the back of his right hand into left palm, focusing solely on the movements of his body and the accumulation of his energy into his hands. It shouldn't have been as hard as it felt, but for whatever reason, the little Prince just couldn't figure out why the energy would die, light coughing out before it had a chance to hit his opponent. Why couldn't he follow through? Was something wrong with him? His body? With the atmosphere aboard the Cold's ship?

Purple aura swirled around him, his ki bunching into a small ball in his right palm. It burned and crackled in, what he assumed, a good way, tingling his fingertips as he fought to pour everything he had into it. In the background, he could hear Nappa hollering at him, telling him to launch it. He felt his lips say "no" before he realized that he had denied his teacher. It didn't matter; he was fully willing to pay the consequences. The simple fact was: his attack wasn't ready.

Yet.

Seconds felt like an eternity as he pulled from the depths of his body, tugging on reserves he didn't know he had until that very moment. His body literally felt like it was on fire, but it was a fire that left warmth in its wake instead of pain. Wait. Was this his ascension? Would he finally take his place as the rightful Lord over his people as the Legendary Super Saiya-jin? Aside from the increase in power, he felt no different than he felt he should, although he could feel his distraction pulling away from his attack instead of enhancing it.

 _Just a little bit…more…_

Onward he pressed, the voices of his bodyguard and teacher drowned out by the pulse of his own energy. Were they yelling? What the hell were they saying? Again he felt his control slip, and he shook his head, clearing his mind again. Screw everything else! If he couldn't focus, then he was unworthy of being the Prince of a proud race of warriors. He needed to be able to hold his own in battle; there wouldn't always be a band of Saiya-jins there to rescue him whenever his attack pittered out to nothing more than a smoking bag of tricks.

He grit his teeth, the effort of containing such a massive ball of energy now taking its toll on his still-developing body. This would, perhaps, be the greatest attack of all-time! He would be able to brand it as his own and develop it to the point of where its lethality would be the stuff of legends! The mere thought alone sent the boy in a small tizzy, his eyes gleaming in the glow of his purple ki. He would show them—and he would show that tiny lizard bastard…

Like a kitchen timer, he felt something in his mind "ping"; at last, it was ready to launch! Crouching down lower, he shifted his center of balance, sure that tossing this thing towards Nappa would cause him to topple over and destroy the room if he were not careful. A smirk eased onto his tan features at the thought of finally showing up his teacher.

"Galick…"

He could barely make out Nappa's wide, dark eyes staring back as he prepared to take the blast full-on. His scouter was beeping madly, but he ignored it, nearly rubbing it against his shoulder to shove it off.

"…HO!"

Fingers splayed, palms flat in front of him, he shot his energy wave, feeling his small frame scoot back slightly as his attack bounded towards the Saiya-jin on the other side of the room. His tail, as if acting of its own will, slinked around his waist, helping him stay on balance just a moment longer. All he could see was the bright flash of light, still shooting out of his hands. A happy giggle escaped his lips, threatening to spill into full-fledged laughter. He resisted though, feeling the tether of his ki as he neared the end of what little energy he had to offer.

As the bright flash in the room died down to be replaced with the normal, red glow, Vegeta realized that Nappa looked like a charred piece of meat. His armor, usually dirty and sometimes cracked, had clearly been dissolved off his body. His wispy, dark hair looked and smelled singed. The older man's large arms were still up and crossed across his body, more so to deflect the attack than to take it. His face, however, was turned towards the new opening in the training room. It followed a succession of charred, scorched walls, breaking into rooms that he had never really seen before, but now had clear access into.

 _Shit!_ The ship gave one final lurch to signify that the blast had reached the core, but had done little else to damage it as it slowly descended down onto the Ice-jin Planet. _Luckyyyy_ , he sighed, although he cringed under the glares and swears in his general direction. It hadn't been his intent to destroy the ship, at least not yet. But seeing the destructive capacity of his new, signature attack was enough to ease his worries. No one else had succeeded in breaking the barriers of Freeza's beloved training room. His scientists had studied and tinkered and built something that was deemed "indestructible" to even the temper tantrums of the Saiya-jins on board.

A grin replaced his worries. Raditz came up from behind him, chancing the moment to clap his young Prince on the shoulder. "Highness, that's quite the attack! I'll bet Nappa didn't see that one coming."

"Tch," Nappa replied, fruitlessly trying to dust himself off. "It's about damn time," he declared, stepping towards his comrades. "You've finally got the hang of the follow-through. Although…" He glanced back through the hole and subsequent holes. "It seems we will go without food for quite some time as penance."

Vegeta shrugged, stepping over the rubble and through the hole of the training room. "I don't _do_ penance," he reminded them, striding down the hall as the older Saiya-jins' barks of laughter followed him. He continued, his ego fully intact and growing by the moment until he felt a cold, scaly hand grab him by the scruff of his neck.

 _Fuck_ , he groaned inwardly, already knowing by stench and skin alone who it was exactly that held him, feet dangling over the cool tile of the floor. His two guardians finally rounded the corner, both frozen to the spot as they noticed one of the alien overlords holding the young Prince up. "Well, well, well. Looks like the stupid apes got a little…carried away. What's the matter? We could practically hear you cheering in the observation deck." The alien turned Vegeta's body toward him, purple lips splitting to reveal a wicked, gleaming smile.

"Dodoria-sama, put the boy down. It wasn't his fault—"

"DAMN RIGHT," Dodoria growled, cutting off Raditz. "You're supposed to be able to control this little shit. Look at the damage he's done! It'll take weeks to replace all of this!" He shook the young boy, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Freeza-sama's not going to be too happy when he sees this, you know."

Even Nappa grimaced at the thought of being handed over from Dodoria to Freeza for punishment. While they knew how to take their lashes like warriors, the sick little twat liked to get…creative, for lack of better terminology…with his torture of them. The little emperor viewed the trio of Saiya-jins like his prized possessions, something that stuck deeply in the craw of the eldest warrior. It was a small sacrifice, he supposed, to ensure the life of the Prince and their people back home. For now.

The pink blob-like alien, tired of the silence, trudged back the way he came, beckoning the two adults with a chubby hand. "Come on you little heathen assholes. Let's not delay the inevitable."

The Prince grit his teeth, now slumped over the horned blob's shoulder as they made their way towards the observation deck. Yes, he had his new attack and he knew what his latent power could do. It was only a matter of time before he would be free of this prison and of the Cold's steely grip.

 _Soon._

* * *

 **A/N: A nice, short glimpse into how I like to think Vegeta created his signature move. Definitely more snapshots in his life to come!**


	5. This is What You Came For

**|This is What You Came For|**

* * *

Trunks leaned heavily against the wall, sucking down as much air as he could without giving away his position to the evil bastard that lurked half a mile away. His muscles twitched in anticipation, but he knew his adrenaline was dying down almost as quickly as his ki. _Oh for Kami's sake_ , he hollered in his mind, calculating how far and how long he could keep trying to escape. Heading back to Capsule Corp would be a fatal mistake…but he wasn't too sure that he wanted to go to the Resistance's safe house either.

Black was clearly interested in him and was relentless in his attacks today. Why? Well, who the fuck knew? Trunks grit his teeth, replaying the destruction left in his wake as he had tried unsuccessfully to preemptively strike at the demon. There was just no over-powering him today, no matter how hard he tried.

The thought of Capsule Corp brought his mother to his mind. How he missed her! It had probably been well over two weeks since he had last visited, moving from hole in the wall to safe house, staying on the move to keep everyone as safe as he could. The blue-haired beauty was hard at work though, bringing a smile to his face. The picture he had managed to smuggle back to the future, Post-Cell, had hung proudly between their bedroom doors so they could both gaze on it with smug smiles. The past had been secured and their future, even without Goku, had been bright with possibilities! And now, with that picture as a constant reminder of the raw power that their friends and family held, Bulma had thrown herself into regenerating the Time Machine, desperately trying to reserve enough energy to send her son into the past to seek out Gohan and Vegeta to fight off their latest threat.

Trunks' frown deepened, realizing that bringing his mentor and father to his timeline could wreck havoc on an already fragile universe. There was no choice though, he mused, daring to peer around the corner once more. The real question was, however, whether or not the two remaining Saiya-jins of the past (aside from his baby self) would actually be able to take down Black. His own power, exponential by comparison to those dark days seven years ago, was hardly enough to defend himself against his foe's powerful attacks. He had been doomed from day one and shook his fist to any Kami or Kai watching that they would toss yet another blood-thirsty alien onto the still-healing planet.

All of the mental blubbering, though, was for naught. There was nothing he could do now except try his damndest to continue to buy time, not only for himself, but for his mother and the earth as well. It was a frightening concept, to think that he only had to live from one minute to the next; push air through the lungs, push ki through the legs, just keep moving!

He forced himself to peer around the corner again, eyes darting methodically over the war-torn landscape, feeling out as far as his ki could to see where the demon lay in wait. Unable to locate him, he quietly patted off what dust he could, launching himself into the sky.

 _I wonder how Mai is doing…_ he let his thoughts trail off as he swooped in low to the river below him, enjoying the tidal waves he created with his aura. The misting waves splashed him lightly, soothing his aching muscles while also rinsing the last 48 hours' worth of grim from his body. What he wouldn't give to have a nice, cool bath and a piping hot meal! His body was used to it though; having grown up under the oppression of the Androids, he and his mother had adapted well to the post-apocolyptic way of life. With just under a decade of peace, fleeing seemed almost as natural as breathing.

He didn't like it. Not one bit.

If his father could see him now, oh how certain he was that he would die of shame! Or maybe just blast him, forever freeing him of the cursed future. A small smile, slightly unnatural on his dark face, graced his features. It had been too long since he had seen the older Saiya-jin. Their relationship hadn't necessarily been a good one during the battle with the past's Androids and Cell, but it had been enough to let Trunks know that the surly man really did care.

Trunks barrel-rolled to the right, climbing a bit up a mountain before his feet gently touched the grass. It had been a long time since he had made the journey out here, but thoughts of his father and former master led him to the one place where he could feel close to all of the people he was fortunate enough to meet in the past.

He lightly touched a mailbox that read "Son", lazily kicking his feet up the small path to the humble capsule house that stood at the crest of the hill. The Sons, Chichi and her father, had long since abandoned the house. It had, ironically enough, been left untouched in both invasions, standing as a sort of shrine to those defenders left behind. His palm rested on the handle of the front door, hesitant to crack it open. He hadn't been there since he had helped Chichi move out, a good five or so years beforehand. His stomach flip-flopped at the idea of literally opening the box of memories, afraid that he would be so consumed in dreams that were not his own that Black would somehow find him, kill him, and finally be able to destroy the planet without much resistance.

Damn these choices!

Bracing himself for the torrent of emotions that was sure to come, Trunks twisted the knob, pushing the door open with slightly more force than necessary. The sunlight spilled in behind him, casting his shadow in an intimidating and eerie way. He winced as he realized that quite a few leaves and loads of dust had blown in before him, soiling the once pristine home. His foot crossed the threshold, hand grasping for the light switch, other hand closing the door behind him. With the curtains drawn, the house was nearly pitch black. Had it not been for his hybrid sight, he was sure that he would've continued to stumble in the dark. However…

"Tah dah," he mumbled, lights flickering to life after a few seconds. His eyes swept he living room, happily surprised that here was still some pieces of furniture and pictures hanging on the wall. It made sense, of course; after the defeat of Babidi and Dabura, Bulma had finally convinced Chichi to ditch the farm and move back to West City. Granted, Chichi had lasted all of six months before ditching civilization altogether and moving back to her father's old village. They were still there, last he checked, blissfully safe and secure from Black's ravaging. It was a small blessing, he mused, walking up to the nearest Son Family photo. Chichi had yet to see what Black looked like…he could only imagine the sort of fit she would have at seeing the very incarnation of evil looking like her saint of a husband.

It was devastating enough for those who he considered his friends.

Trunks let his fingers lightly trace the picture frame, unsurprised by the dust bunnies that formed under his gloved finger. A sigh he hadn't realized had been lodged in his lungs escaped his lips, blowing said dust bunnies away, joining their comrade tumble weeds on the floor. His eyes trailed to the next photo, an even rarer sight if ever he saw one. It had to have been one of the last pictures taken before Goku's death; it looked to be a party of some sort. From the looks of it, he had just been born, if his size was any indication. His father, also surprisingly enough, was holding him, glaring to the side where his mother sat, laughing and poking him with a stringy finger. Her other arm was wrapped tightly around his shoulders, her palm barely gripping the end of his muscular shoulder. Trunks smiled, wishing he could remember this event.

His eyes continued to move along the picture, capturing Goku's goofy grin directed at the camera. One arm was on the back of the couch, probably would've been wrapped around Bulma if she hadn't been so focused on making Vegeta try to smile. His other arm was wrapped around Chichi, who, despite having to be so close to so many former enemies of Goku, had a warm smile on her face. Gohan managed to sit between them, his own cheeky grin, so much like his father's forever memorialized in ink and paper. It caused the lavender-haired man to feel a pang of sadness that he wished he could shove aside. An impossible task, he knew, but one that lingered in the back of his mind nonetheless.

The rest of the photo contained the "gang", as his mother lovingly referred to them: Krillin, Muten Roshi, Piccolo, Tien, even Yamucha, Launch, and Chaotzu. It had been one that his bright blue eyes had seen on multiple occasions, but he had never really taken the time to study it. Shame suddenly filled the young demi—how often had he only focused on the Briefs and the Sons? The others had sacrificed themselves as well for the sake of the planet, and he could barely be bothered to honor their memory.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, taking the frame down from the wall. He continued to stare down at it, in his hands, polishing the rest of the dust off of it. Their faces continued to reflect the happiness of that one moment in time—save for Vegeta's and Piccolo's, of course—frozen for all eternity to be hung in an abandoned home. It didn't seem right, at least not to him, that all of these photos should be left behind. For whatever reason, it felt like a jab in a still-fresh wound that he felt whenever he flew over the carnage of the bigger cities near his home.

And yet…it also seemed wrong to just pilfer these photos from Chichi's home. While she may have left them hanging on the walls, it was quite possible that she had left these things as a sort of means for an escape, should village life ever prove too much for her. He felt he was at a crossroads of morality and wasn't sure how he should act. His hands tensed and shook, straining with the effort of such a simple but long-lasting decision.

 _Should I?_

 _Shouldn't I?_

 _Should I?_

 _Shouldn't…_ Mentally he could see his parents rolling their eyes at his indecision, both of them chiding him that it wasn't really all that difficult of a choice to make. Their moral compasses didn't exactly point due-north, but he knew what they would do.

Quickly, before he could change his mind, he flipped the frame open, practically ripping the backing open to remove the picture. He shoved the photo into his jacket pocket, not chancing a second look and effectively changing his mind over what he had just done.

"She won't mind," he reasoned, sure that with as organized as Gohan's mother could be, that she was bound to have a copy of the photo saved somewhere anyway. Besides, his own mother would absolutely _love_ this…and his slow decent into delinquency.

Without a glance at any other photo, the young half-Saiya-jin turned on his heel, shut off the light, and fled the farm. He would come back another day.

Hopefully not to pilfer another memory.

* * *

 **A/N: So DBS is still being worked on, specifically we're in Future Trunks' Arc again…meaning I have no idea how it's going to turn out just yet! Hooray! Hope this was entertaining enough for you all, and sorry to keep you waiting!**


	6. Lost Boy

**|Lost Boy|**

" _Oh papa! I was so scared!"_

It had been a sentence that had haunted him in the hours of their return to Earth. His wife had sent him off to chase after the two, young troublemakers, unaware that she had quite literally sent her husband off to his third death. He hadn't died, of course, thanks in part to the clumsy feet of Monaka and the hesitant blast of Kakarot. But it was his son's cries during those last, uncertain seconds, that had forced him to hold on just a smidge longer. He had always accepted death to be one of the few, sure things in life, embracing it with a smile on his face and the grace of a Prince.

But his son…

Another part of him felt guilty—shame, really. While he had been reaching out to grab his tiny, already-scarred hand, the _binkie_ -looking key had popped out of his mouth, his transparent hand slipping through his son's tangible one. If that was to be the end, his final sacrifice for the ones he cared about, then there was no point in delaying an already emotionally painful death. But that was what was bothering him. He had given up the moment he saw the Superhuman Water shithead reach for his boy. There was no stopping it, time was running out, and for whatever fool reason, Kakarot just couldn't find it in him to kill his copy-self.

He had seen the shimmer of tears in Trunks' eyes as the young demi realized that his father was breaths away from death. All hope had been lost in that moment, and no matter how hard father and son tried, neither could save the other from certain death.

…but death hadn't come.

"You've been awfully quiet, love," Bulma murmured, setting down a piping hot cup of tea in front of her husband. His usually still features were drawn deep into a thoughtful frown, something she hadn't seen in quite a few months.

"Ah," he grunted, taking a tentative sip before setting the cup back on the table.

"I think this is the first time I've seen you in your civilian clothes since you went off to train with Beerus-sama and Whis-san." When she received no reply, she continued. "What happened out there? Trunks was in hysterics when you guys got back. I couldn't even get Goten to calm down long enough to fly home."

Vegeta grimaced, remembering how Trunks had launched his tiny little body towards his torso, his tears soaking through the uniform below his armor. There had been no consoling him after he had admitted how terrified he had been, with Goten echoing his son's sentiments before wrapping his own short arms around his thigh. It was in that moment that he had realized that both little warriors had grown considerably since the battle with Buu. He hadn't noticed before—most likely because he saw them every day—and was sure he would've never taken note had his own heart not been thundering in his ears. They had continued to cling on to him as he shuffled them into Jaco's spaceship, his palms resting on their backs, unwilling to admit that he was clinging on to them just as much. It was an embarrassing spectacle, but even with Kakarot's sympathetic eyes on the trio, he couldn't summon the energy to rebuke the children and shake them off his body.

"Vegeta?"

He blinked a few times, eyes finally focusing on Bulma's worried face. He must've faced her to explain what had happened, but his thoughts had captured his attention before he even had a chance to begin. "It's a long story."

"You were only gone for a few hours, so it couldn't have been that long. Plus, you know I'm a big fan of adventures." She offered him a small, warm smile…the same one she flashed him whenever she was trying to get her way. She was a sneaky, tricky little human, but she was his and that was all that mattered.

The Prince let out a sigh, taking another sip of tea before starting the story. "It shouldn't be surprising that those two little brats managed to find trouble…again…"

* * *

He was supposed to be asleep. He knew it deep down, and he was also vaguely aware that if his mother checked on him, as she did every night, she would throw a fit knowing that he was still awake in the wee hours of the morning. But, try as he might, he could not get his crystal-blue eyes to stay shut without seeing his father, transparent enough to not obstruct his view of the landscape, disappearing into a mass of purple, glittering ki. It was unnerving, to actually witness his father's death first-hand, instead of receiving the sleeping blow that would leave him knocked out for half of a day, unaware of anyone's death.

Trunks flopped over onto his back, pulling the covers down just enough to peek out at his room. Crowded with toys, it made the walls seem like his world was closing in on him, suffocating what little air he could force through his burning lungs. He had battled demons and gods, but some jello-like substance had shattered his resolve and forced him to face the reality of monsters in his nightmares. The child hated it, hated the life that he was born into, the sudden rage causing the electricity of his ki to flare around him. Like his father, he knew that the only way to beat the fear was to embrace it head-first, but like his mother, he knew that this would probably only cause him to lose what little sanity he had been born with. He was lashing out in his still-terrified state, willing the monsters to run from him while they still could.

A quiet knock shook him to the core, the crackling of his ki fading nearly as quickly and as quietly as it had come. He pushed himself up on one arm, bracing himself for the onslaught of punishment he was sure to receive from still being up. "Come in," he rasped, bowing his head as he braced himself for what was to come.

"Are you alright?" Came his father's voice before the bed depressed slightly. Trunks looked up, shocked that his father had so quickly and easily sat on his bed. It was rare indeed for the Saiya-jin to cross the threshold into his room, at least, as far as he was aware.

"I guess," he muttered, twisting his sheets between his fingers. "I just…can't sleep."

Vegeta pursed his lips, kicking off his house slippers to sit cross-legged on his son's bed. The demi raised an eyebrow but said nothing, the relative proximity of his father working wonders to relieve the pressure on his overworked nerves.

"What's wrong?"

Trunks opened his mouth, snapping it shut again as he pieced together his explanation. He wasn't entirely sure how to tell his father just how effected he was by witnessing his near-death experience without falling to pieces in front of him. The man was his hero, the very being he idolized in every aspect of his life. The thought of him no longer being alive had sent him spiraling out of control, sure to have made him ascend had he not already mastered the golden power of his people.

"You almost…" His voice trailed off, unwilling to say the word _died_ , but finding the need to talk with his father grow with each passing second. "You almost…left me. Us," he corrected as an afterthought, although he was pretty sure his mother would've turned all of the universes upside down to find any and all groups of dragon balls to wish back her husband before she would even begin to mourn.

"Ah," his father replied, his steely eyes leaving his own to stare at the wall, although the look he held there seemed to stare _through_ the wall, lightyears away from where they currently were. Trunks felt his cheeks heat in sudden knowledge that he was sharing some sort of emotion with his father. They had always been at a silent understanding that his father wasn't the one to come to when one felt _emotional_. That was what his mother could handle. Or his grandparents. His father understood happy and mad, but that was about it.

"Sorry," he mumbled, chancing another look at his father from beneath his lavender bangs. The sheets he so harshly twisted began to fray under his nimble fingers.

Vegeta sighed, running a tan hand through his long, dark hair. "Don't be," he started, tugging away the corner of the sheet to spare any further damage. "Sometimes I forget that you aren't as used to a battle to the death like Kakarot and I. Well, and Gohan too I suppose." His lips pursed for a moment before he rested his palm on the crown of his son's head. "And sometimes I take that for granted," he felt his throat swell slightly as he ruffled Trunks' hair. Damned, stupid, pitiful Earthling emotions.

Trunks beamed up at him slightly before launching himself at his father's chest, tiny yet muscular arms wrapping around his thick neck in an almost vice-like grip. Vegeta's eyes were wide—mostly at the proximity, but also because of his son's speed—before his face softened and he returned his son's embrace with one world crushing arm. "I'm not going anywhere, alright?" He gave the boy a few more pats on the back before unwinding his powerful arms from around him. The child nodded once, his fears quelled momentarily. "Now, let's say we all sleep this off and maybe we'll shorten tomorrow's training session."

"Can we play video games?!"

Vegeta grimaced as Trunks rearranged his pillows. He was absolutely terrible at the kids' video games and a sore loser to boot. "Maybe," he ground out, standing up to tuck the demi in.

"Please," he whined, big, baby blue eyes shining up at his father.

The Prince bit back a bark of laughter. "You're getting too old for that boy." Although it still definitely worked for his mother. "But I suppose we can work something out. Sleep."

Trunks nodded, his triumphant grin barely visible in the dimly lit room. "Papa?" Vegeta stopped his escape from the room, pausing in the door way. He could see another blush creep across his son's cheeks as the boy took in a deep breath. "I love you," he forced out quickly, too nervous to keep staring at his alien father, but too proud to turn away.

In another era, perhaps even another timeline, Vegeta was sure he would've rebuked the child on the spot for daring to be so gushy, for _feeling_ anything at all. As it was though, with everything that had happened to their tiny family up to this point…with as attached to them and as protective of them as had grown, he could not.

Instead, he offered a rare, genuine smile—one that left Trunks reeling from his bed. "Sleep," he ordered again, with no bite and with the same smile. The door closed instantly, leaving the small Prince to mirror the same smile he had seen on his father's face mere seconds before. Sure, his nerves were still relatively rattled, but his father was alive and well. And that was all that mattered.

* * *

 **A/N: Ah, minna! So sorry! Work got crazy…life got crazy. I hope this is enough to hold you over until I finish the next chapter of "Savin' Me".**

 **Thanks for reading! Until next time…**


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